


euneirophrenia - a dramione fanfiction

by calliebby



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Angry Draco Malfoy, Angry Sex, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Dark Harry Potter, Death Eater Draco Malfoy, Death Eaters, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Evil Voldemort (Harry Potter), F/M, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Smut, I Love You, Post-Hogwarts, Rough Sex, Second War with Voldemort, Slow Burn, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29525406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calliebby/pseuds/calliebby
Summary: Voldemort's army has succeeded. Harry Potter has been slaughtered. All previous ties to The Order of the Phoenix have been cut. Hermione Granger, the last remaining member of the golden trio, has been deposited in a jail cell with four of her classmates to rot.Nobody would find them, nobody would come looking. Once gone missing, you were considered another body on top of a tall pile of dead.Her dreams and disassociation are the only things keeping her sane, until a certain blonde boy, who's climbed high in Voldemort's ranks becomes the tender to her cell.She must walk with her enemy, once every two weeks at two in the morning, with tired feet and fatigued bones to have her health checked due to the death eaters' brutality.The walk takes one hour.One hour less of dreams, one hour more of twigs poking at her soles, walking through the darkness with her hands tied behind her back.Draco Malfoy had stolen her dreams.And Hermione Granger was furious.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 6
Kudos: 66





	1. ☾ Chapter 1

☾

March 9th, 2001

"Stick together," Ginny exclaimed, holstering her bloodied combat knife back into her leather waistband, "We're going into the base for Leanne, and coming right back out. I expect no commotion, no speaking, absolute silence. Got it?"

Fred, Hermione, Luna, Parvati and Neville all nodded in agreement, wands ready in case of an unpremeditated attack.

That was how the rest of their division had gotten killed. Leanne was the only one left. The Order, despite multiple pleads and counter arguments from Hermione had continued to send the halved group out on assignments.

Whether it was as small as foraging for extra food, or as risky as rescuing a fellow classmate, she was surprised she hadn't been killed yet.

Hermione was in no means grateful to be alive.

War on the losing side was a place she didn't want to be, but others relied on her skill. She wasn't allowed to take her own life. It'd be too selfish.

Despite nearly nearly three years having passed since the Battle of Hogwarts, the deaths of both her best friend and boyfriend at the time stung her bones. The loss of Ron had been a deep gash in her heart that had yet to heal, Harry's execution only prying it wider.

Hermione was unsure how she'd made it so far.

She was the only one left.

Bravery and self righteousness had gotten the two Gryffindor boys killed.

With the wits to outsmart death itself, the strength in her muscles to run as fast as a fox, the ability to blend into her surroundings with the twist of her wand, she was sure her house had changed.

She no longer carried the pride Gryffindor house had given her.

It was buried deep inside.

They began to hike against the whipping tall grasses, wind cascading through her wild curls before tying it into a low bun, so she couldn't be grabbed.

They were at the summit of a nearby mountain, Hogwarts' crumbled ruins twenty miles in the foggy distance, the base camp of Lord Voldemort's army sitting snug against the mossed boulders, small cabins puffing smoke from their chimneys as tortured screams echoed through the valley below.

Hermione had grown accustomed to the base camp. Male captives wore white shirts with white trousers, while the female captives wore long, sheer, Victorian style dresses, also in a creamy white shade.

In white, the death eaters' brutality could ooze through the cotton fabric in shades of maroon, staining their gowns with blood, like red wine to a drunk man's carpet. The bloodier the dress, the more disobedient you were.

It was their little game.

Hermione had grown to dread the color white. She'd promised herself she would never wear one of those rags; and if she ever did, she swore to the gods she would stain it completely scarlet by the time they decided to kill her.

They'd approached a weak spot in the base camp by now, only two death eaters standing next to the barbed wire fence, half of it having had collapsed in on itself, providing a small hurdle.

Magic would be detected, setting off an alarm that would immediately blow their cover.

She had done this before.

Nodding to Ginny, they took their combat knives from the leather waistbands, avoiding crumpled leaves on the valley floor from the previous autumn, having been buried underneath the melting winter snow.

In a swift motion, heartbeat pounding in her ribcage so loudly she was convinced he could hear, her hand muffled over the death eaters lips, pulling his back into her chest with a grunt before slitting his throat.

She wiped his blood on her trousers before continuing forward.

"Remus said Leanne is most likely being held in the twenty sixth building, which is right-"

"There," Hermione pointed with a whisper, slipping the knife back into it's socket.

They crept forward in the darkness, hiding behind cabins and trees to avoid the last few awake death eaters presences.

"Is it unlocked?" Neville whispered, watching as Hermione slowly turned the doorknob.

" _Shit_ -" she rattled the handle, but it remained shut, "It's not."

"Here," Luna said softly, taking a bobby pin from her blonde locks of hair, "let me help."

She bent the pin into a key before pressing it into the knob, rattling the lock until the wooden door pushed open.

"Downstairs," Fred whispered, creaking floorboards muffled by the cushioning charm on their shoes.

The small house reeked of shit beer, sweat and fluid, laughter downstairs opposing the ominous atmosphere around them.

At the bottom of the narrow staircase was a soft light,

"And then that's when I told her that I'd fucked and killed that one, yeah?" one of the death eaters chuckled,

"The one with the little purple headband?" the other death eater asked, sipping from a flask full of what she presumed was extremely strong alcohol.

"Yeah-" before he could respond fully he'd vomited his drink onto the floor.

Hermione scrunched her nose, gagging at the rancid smell.

"Fucking shit, mate. You're a mess,"

"Yeah well if this one don't die down here, we will," he answered, spitting the rest of his puke onto the bloodied tile floor. Hermione's gaze fell to Leanne, who was curled up in a ball, dress perfectly white, a look of absolute abhorrence sitting across her features as she sat behind bars.

"Right. We're all just here to rot-"

Neville put his arm around Hermione's head, whispering "duck" before his knife shot from his hand, splicing right through the left death eater's brain.

The other was too drunk to operate; an easy kill.

Before they could celebrate, his deadened skull had slumped onto the emergency switch.

The alarms began to blare.

"Please get me out of here," Leanne sobbed, as Luna's calloused fingertips fumbled with the lock, pulling the cell door open, the bruised, shaking girl collapsing into her arms.

"We have to go, _now_ ," Ginny shouted, auburn braid swinging to the side as the group scurried back up the stairs, knives in hand.

"Incarcerous," a female voice hissed from the entryway, standing at the now wide open door. Thick black ropes began to emit from tip of her wand, slithering around each of their bodies, the fibers rubbing uncomfortably against Hermione's neck as she watched her friends fight against the cables which were tying securely around their limbs.

She nearly rolled her eyes at them.

The harder you fight, the tighter they coil; by the time one of the death eaters began to speak Hermione's ropes were practically loose against her limbs.

To others, she looked defeated. As though she'd given up.

She may want to be clutched up by the hands of death, but Hermione had never once given up.

Every move she made was perfectly calculated.

"I applaud you for your efforts," the one who's wand held the solution to their ropes exclaimed sarcastically, leather mask hooked over her mouth and nose, only revealing piercing green irises. Hermione hadn't seen these masks before. The others wore full face masks with black hoods, intricate designs engraved around the mouth and eyes.

This mask was contemporary.

It was as black as the midnight sky, forged from leather animal skin with a silver zipper over the mouth, metal chain across the nose with three sockets for extra bullets against the cheekbone. It latched onto her face by a band that hooked tightly around the back of her neck, to keep her features completely hidden.

Except for the eyes and hair.

Perhaps she was higher in ranks than her fellow peers were.

"These are well known Order members," Hermione's hazel eyes squinted. She swore she could see the smirk laying hidden underneath her mask, "We aren't killing this batch."

The woman motioned her hand forward, fingernails encrusted with dirt and dried blood.

" _Take them_."

The death eaters stormed the room, a tall man in black now behind Hermione, hands wrapped tightly around her waist, "This one's pretty. Think I might keep her-"

The female lead immediately pointed her wand towards him in fury, "This was to be a silent operation, Rookwood," she seethed, "I do the talking. One more word from your filthy little mouth and I'll sew your lips shut myself."

"Get off of me-" Ginny fought under the grasp of her captor, earning a slap across the cheek.

Hermione stood unmoving until they began to trudge forwards, ropes tied around their bodies into the darkness of the night.

She studied her surroundings, fingertips and ears stinging from the frisk air; they were treading along a dirt pass, mud accumulating under her sneaker's soles from the previous morning's rainfall, tree leaves dribbling water droplets from above, one landing on her cheek with a splat. A soft stream was trickling along the other side of the narrow pathway, crickets chirping in the nearby wood.

She didn't know where they'd be going, she only expected an extreme amount of torture.

Physically.

Verbally.

Mentally.

She'd been preparing so much to disassociate from the pain, she hadn't noticed the group scheming a silent plan around her.

Suddenly, Neville began to sprint.

"GO, NOW!" Ginny shouted, the death eaters' focus being on the boy who was now darting through trees, avoiding spells that splinted bark, one being so forceful a tree severed in half, hitting the forest floor with a large crash. They were so focused they'd hardly noticed Luna and Leanne, now sprinting towards the barrier.

Mere feet from the magical boundary, death eaters hollering out in pure frustration, both Leanne and Luna had managed to apparate away.

"What were you thinking, boy?" the death eater growled, dragging Neville back to the group by the rope that hung around his neck, earning multiple kicks to the stomach and chest which forced a numbed tear to roll down her pink cheek.

Her feet burned by the time they'd arrived at their final destination. It was a secluded, rotten, foul smelling cell nearly two miles away from the main camp. It contained five metal bedframes with stained mattresses, a small table, one chair and a broken lamp.

Ginny, Neville, Fred, Parvati and an incredibly exhausted Hermione were tossed into the unit as though they were disposable garbage.

On her mattress sat an ivory Victorian gown, folded into a neat square.

She fumbled her way on top of it's cushiony surface, ignoring the vulgar surroundings, and fell fast asleep where she could be with Harry and Ronald again.

If she were to escape alive, she would not bloody her dress.

Hermione would wear white.

☾


	2. ☾ Chapter 2

☾

August 7th, 2001

"What do you know?"

Her eyes were watering from the repeated punches to her now broken nose, bottom lip split and crusted with blood. Pain soared through her veins after she'd been hit repeatedly to the limbs, yellowish bruises beginning to darken in color. She was under so much distress she should've broken by now...

But Hermione couldn't feel a thing.

They had been interrogating Hermione this way for months, and she'd revealed absolutely no information; let alone speak to them at all. She sat silently, taking hit after hit, spell after spell, but neither physical infliction or magical incantations were strong enough to infiltrate her mind.

While disassociating, her mind was a steel vessel; impossible to pry into for Order information.

Currently, she was sipping tea with Harry and Ron in Hagrid's hut, discussing last night's quidditch match, the warm spring breeze drifting through the two open windows.

In her current reality she was drenched in sweat, dress damp from the ninety degree weather, curls frizzy in the boiling summer heat.

"Her heart rate is completely normal," a death eater snarled, "we've tried everything. Why don't we just off her-"

"She'll break eventually," one of them approached her, crouching down to wipe a sweaty curl from her forehead, staring into her blank, emotionless eyes. "Send her back."

Pain lurching in her stomach, she felt herself being tugged out the door by the collar, from the main camp's interrogation site back towards the dirt path that would carry her feet to the dreaded prison where her friends lay waiting for her return.

"Tea," Hermione mumbled, trying to focus on the memory rather than the vomit rising in her throat.

"What is she on about?" he tugged the rope harder around her neck, dirt path warm beneath her bare feet.

"Tea."

"You think she's psychotic?" the other chuckled, "I've always liked my bitches a little bit crazy,"

"Tea."

Halfway down the path, they encountered two male death eaters, presumably high ranking due to the leather masks that sat bound around their necks.

"Tea," she mumbled, fuzzy eyes locking briefly with a pair of sharp blue hues before they continued along the path.

"Tea."

She repeated that word in a hushed whisper until they'd returned to the cell, throwing her onto it's filthy cement floor before locking her inside.

"Tea."

"Hermione," Ginny shook her shoulders, "You're safe now. It's okay, you can wake up."

"Tea."

Ginny grimaced, whimpering, "I'm sorry for this," before pressing two fingers to the wound on her abdomen.

Ginny's eyes squeezed shut as Hermione returned to her consciousness with an ear shriveling scream.

"Was it that bad?" Hermione asked, hand to her heart as she attempted to fill her lungs with fresh air.

"They did a number on you today, Mione," Neville looked down with a somber expression, legs crossed where he sat on his mattress.

"Give me the bucket," she muttered, face turning sour.

Parvati quickly grabbed it from the corner of their box, placing it by Hermione's feet as she doubled over, hurling repeatedly into the metal pail.

There were only three pails; one for vomit, one for the girls' waste, the other for the boys'. They would leave them by the open aired door every night so the cell wouldn't stench.

"What time are you thinking it is about now?" She wiped her mouth, asking Fred, who was sitting in front of the sun dial that had been etched into the floor.

They could only ever tell what time it was in the latest half of the afternoon due to only having one light source; their door. Fred had scraped a clock into the ground with rusty nail. He'd kept it in his pant pocket ever since, placing the flat side in the center of the small clock whenever a time was needed.

"It's around six," Fred exclaimed, "Maybe almost seven, my numbers aren't completely accurate."

"Dinner should be coming soon," Parvati exclaimed, laying her head down on the makeshift pillow she'd created by tearing the bottom half of her dress off, and rolling it into a ball.

Hermione studied the people around her.

Fred, after his near death experience during the Battle of Hogwarts had turned almost skittish. Red messy hair, scrawny limbs, freckles and all, he'd become shy. Jumpy. Even so, The Order had put that jumpiness to a use. He ran solely on adrenaline; when stirred, Fred Weasley was a tank.

Ginny on the other hand had become a leader. She was strong, muscles flexing through the dress that seemed much too dainty for her built figure. She'd put Harry's death towards rage; Fred and her being the only Weasley's left made her even further determined to stay alive.

Parvati was small, slender, but still stood with her head held high, strong willed eyes poring over every detail around her. The deaths of both her sister and best friend Lavender Brown had weakened her emotional stamina, but she remained courageous nonetheless.

Neville had stayed quite the same as he'd been throughout both their sixth and seventh year. He seemed to be the only one who hadn't allowed the war to bring out the worst in him. Killing Bellatrix had filled him with a sense of pride. Despite their loss to Voldemort, everything he'd done for The Order was more so for his parents, not The Order itself.

Hermione was unsure as to what she'd become; she hadn't looked in a mirror since her abduction. She partook in training at The Order's main safe house, so she'd definitely accumulated some muscle. Despite her regular beatings she'd continued that training to maintain her strength.

She was sure her curls were untamed by now, more so than they had ever been. She hadn't had a haircut in what felt like forever; if she were to do the math, she'd gotten it cut two months before her capture. Add five months in confinement and her curls that were once just below her shoulders had grown down to her mid back.

Despite the shower given by the camp's health center every other week, which much to her surprise accommodated shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, wasn't enough to tame her the bronze coils that sprung from her scalp.

The cell door was abruptly set ajar, a tray with three plates of scrap food and two bottles of water now set on the floor.

Hermione stood from the bed, curls spilling gingerly down her back as she stared curiously at the guard, a faded scar engraved into his left cheekbone which she could see over his leather mask.

He was new.

"Due to an overwhelming amount of people filling the Health Center on main camp-"

"I think you mean hostages," Ginny snarled with crossed arms, interrupting him. His blue eyes narrowed into fine slits, staring down at her with a look of utter hatred displayed on what was visible of his face.

"Due to an overwhelming amount of _hostages_ , filling the Health Center on main camp, your health checks every other week have been moved," he said lowly, standing by the door, "I'll be the tender to your cell from now on."

His gaze suddenly turned to Hermione, peering down at the bump in her nose, dried crimson blemished across her cheeks.

Much to her surprise he pulled his wand from his pocket, muttering a healing spell causing her nose to crack back into place making her wail out in pain, fresh blood spilling from her nostrils.

"Why are you helping us?" Fred asked nervously, watching as the guard summoned and tossed Hermione a wetted rag.

"I am not _helping_ you. Despite my peers' _obvious_ disregard for the rules, prisoners are supposed to be well tended to," he seethed, almost laughing at the idiotic comment, "Why do you think they're called _cell tenders_?"

Fred's gaze fell to the floor.

"You'll be going at three PM on Wednesdays," he exclaimed to Fred, who was near ready to cower in the corner.

"You," he pointed to Neville, " Eight AM on Mondays,"

"You," to Ginny, "Five PM on Saturdays,"

"You," he exclaimed again towards Parvati, "Eight PM on Fridays,"

"You," he finally pointed towards Hermione, "Two AM on Thursdays."

"But that's in the middle of the night," Hermione scowled, staring at him in anger.

" _Fucking deal with it,_ " he fumed, voice deep with grit, "It wasn't my decision to make. Your concerns are _not_ my problem."

Hermione huffed, deciding on a different question, "how do we know what-"

She was cut off by another wave of his wand, a solar powered alarm clock landing in front of her feet.

"Be ready at your specific time, or you'll regret it," he snarled, eyebrows raising at Hermione before striding out of the cell, locking the door.

That night, she thought about him before slipping into her own world.

He seemed so familiar.

Despite his cold blue eyes and platinum blonde hair, Hermione could not recognize him. The war had changed the blonde man as much as it had her.

☾


	3. ☾ Chapter 3

☾

Hermione had refused the alarm.

She hadn't wanted to wake anyone from their precious sleep in the middle of the night; so instead, she sat rocking back and forth, knees hugged to her her chest as she stared intently at the red numbers with tired eyes.

Her old appointments were at eleven in the morning on Tuesdays. She found the change unsettling, but was quite excited to stand under a steaming hot shower. Lesser people arrived at the Health Center in the early mornings; she could hog the blazing liquid for herself.

Hermione no longer felt pity for those who'd been captured. Other than her small band, she'd taken to revolving around an 'every man for themselves' ideology.

Her considerateness and kindness from her school years hadn't seemed to make any difference. Every kind act she committed was never repaid, and only violence and ignorance ever seemed to breach out of her peers.

The blonde man in the black cloak returned, cell door squeaking as it opened, coaxing for Hermione to follow him with a cock of the head.

She was incredibly uneasy, having never been fond of the dark. The crickets and soft trickling water from the creek nearby were comforting to hear, but her eyes betrayed her per usual, seeing shapes in the shadows, monsters behind trees.

It was a mere thought; one she found revolting, one that disgusted her as it seeped through her mind and out again. She only heard the inner voice for a moment before pulling herself back to reality.

The guard, walking silently beside her; she'd noticed he didn't pull as hard as the others.

She should not in any means find that compassionate, and yet it bled through her doubts as a microscopic source of relief. Anything she could get, she would gladly take.

She was unsure how long they'd been walking, the silence around them filled with their pattering footsteps and the soft howls of wolves far in the distance. The summer air had cooled; perhaps walking at night had it's benefits. She no longer had to trudge through mud in the smoldering heat.

_No._

She would not allow herself to appreciate the little things. Feeling relieved in the slightest would lead to false hope, an emotion Hermione dreaded feeling ever again.

Harry and Ronald had been executed, and she hadn't felt it since.

False hope would get you killed in this world, and despite Hermione's extreme urge for utter death, the confident, passionate eleven year old witch was somewhere in her heart, pounding it from the inside with small fists, willing her twenty one year old self to stay alive.

Hermione couldn't kill that little girl. Even the thought itself brought her to tears.

But she would not cry in front of the man; she refused to appear as another weak, adolescent school girl who'd gotten wrapped up in a war with no choice.

_No._

Hermione would embrace it.

She embraced every punch, every jab, every attempt at legilimency that poked and prodded at her brain in attempt of finding some bit of useful information. She embraced the metal pail in her cell, the rusted bar door, the stained mattresses.

The only thing she would never embrace was the ivory Victorian dress that sat sown around her body, changed every two weeks during the Health appointment she was trekking towards currently.

"You didn't have to heal my nose, you know," she finally piped up, still in a hushed tone, "I've read over your manuals, studied all of them actually. Nowhere does it say-"

" _Shut your mouth_ ," the man snarled, "I prefer my prisoners have pretty faces."

Hermione pursed her lips shut as he gave a small yank at the ropes tied around her wrists, tugging her slightly as they continued along the road.

Finally arriving at the main camp's Health Center, she was roughly pushed inside, the lights in the ceiling blinding to the naked eye.

"Miss Granger," his familiar voice spoke, "come in."

Hermione held an extreme grudge towards the man, her old professor, who'd sided with the death eaters after the battle. Him being on the side of evil wasn't the thing that angered her, however. It was having sided with them out of sheepishness.

Professor Slughorn was a coward.

He took her into the backroom, the blonde man sitting outside in the waiting area.

Slughorn ran diagnostics on her nose, which had been healed incredibly carelessly, the bruises on her limbs, and the concussion she'd received nearly eight weeks ago after having been pushed from the interrogation chair onto her side, arms tied behind her back providing nothing to catch herself with. Her head hit the cement with a crack, and she'd been slightly out of it ever since.

"It's healing up quite well," Slughorn gave a half hearted smile, handing her a fresh dress, "you may go shower now."

Hermione trudged into the back room, three unoccupied showers standing in their almighty glory, ready for her use.

Closing the door, she turned the knob all the way up. Due to the sticky weather taking a hot shower may appear a moronic thing to do, but she always felt cooler afterwards.

She released her hair from the ponytail it was held back in. After having hidden her hair tie when searched, she kept the wisps away from her face and neck in the soiling summer heat. From then on, nobody seemed to pay her any mind. Taking away a hair tie was something no death eater really cared enough to do.

Even so, she clung to that baby blue hair tie with her life.

Pelts of boiling water ambushed her skin as she let out a satisfied hum, shampooing thoroughly through her large mop of curls. This was the cleanest she'd feel until her next appointment; she was required to scrub herself within an inch of her life.

Her fingers scratched at her limbs with body wash until they were engraved with red nail marks, washing under her arms and between her legs, her neck, even slightly scrubbing her face with warm water.

She stepped out once the set fifteen minute mark alarm blared in her ears, forcing her to step out of the shower, giving her ten minutes to dry.

How much she missed being able to use her magic.

Even a silent, wandless spell would be detected; she cursed her hair for being so thick and long.

It would take hours to dry.

The only good thing that came from the summer heat was the fact that her hair could dry naturally without her getting cold.

The thought dreaded her; the moment the air begins to chill, she'd be freezing half to death on an hour walk back to a heatless cell.

She remained unsure how they'd survive the winter, if they would even make it to wintertime at all.

Once dried, dressed and finished, she headed back towards the blonde man, curls still wet as he hooked the ropes back around her wrists.

They trudged back onto the road in complete silence.

An hour passed, now only minutes from the cell they came across a freshly disposed corpse, laying in the center of the path to rot. It was merely a child, no older than eighteen, golden locks of blonde hair atop his head.

Hermione pressed a sob from her throat back into her chest; even in the dimly lit moonlight, she recognized him.

Colin Creevey.

"Oh my god," she whimpered, staring at the lifeless body with shaking hands, heart beating out of her chest.

He coaxed her forward, stepping over the body, disregarding the boy's existence.

"You've seen plenty of dead, _Mudblood_ ," he hummed, pushing her back into the cell before releasing the ropes, "why so rattled?"

She sat on her mattress, mouth agape in realization as he locked the door with a flick of his wand, leaving her alone to fight against the shaking breaths that now erupted through her chest.

It was in the way he'd said mudblood, in which she knew for sure.

The thought had pondered in the back of her mind, but she hadn't thought it possible after he'd pussied out of killing the Headmaster.

Draco Malfoy was the tender to her prison cell.

Hermione couldn't sleep the rest of the night. She was too intoxicated with stress to lucid dream.

She knew the moment she closed her eyes, she would only see the corpse of the boy behind the camera.

☾


	4. ☾ Chapter 4

☾

Hermione let the others come to the conclusion.

After another long two hours of interrogation, curled in a bloodied ball on her mattress, Ginny returned with a look of shock on her face.

"It's Malfoy," were the only words she could speak as she lowered herself onto her own bed, "It's Draco fucking Malfoy."

"I knew he seemed familiar," Parvati said softly, cleansing Hermione's wounds with a tear of cloth and the little water they had from the previous night.

"Isn't he somewhat of a war weapon now?" Fred questioned, "I've read it in the papers."

"I heard they killed his Mother as punishment after he failed to kill Dumbledore," Neville exclaimed, "I feel a bit bad for him, really."

"He's a terrible person, Neville. He treated us like shit," Hermione scolded him for his empathy, "He deserves everything he's gotten. You know that."

"I guess you're right," he mumbled, giving up on his sliver of compassion for the death eater.

............

The red numbers changed from 1:59 to 2:00, Draco arriving precisely on time as the door swung open. Hermione stood tiredly from the mattress as he tied ropes around her wrists, behind her back. Shoving her lightly forward, they began to trudge along the path.

She studied him in the twilight.

It was difficult to make out specific details due to the darkness. She analyzed his messy silver hair, the metal embellishments on his mask, the rope in his hands that connected to the ones around her wrists, the leather book that sat in his satchel, a small moonstone attached to the binding by a silver chain.

"Eyes on the road, _Mudblood_ ," he growled, "Never know what creatures might pop out to chew you down to the bone."

Her fear of the dark only grew at his statement; only left her wondering.

"Have you ever been attacked before?" she said quietly, voice sounding much smaller than she'd intended, "On this road, I mean."

"Why do you ask?" he cocked a brow at her, "are you scared, _Mudblood_?"

"No."

Heart pounding in her chest, they continued to walk.

"If you must know, I was attacked by a fully grown Chimaera around a year ago on this path," he exclaimed.

Hermione almost gasped aloud at his revelation. Chimaeras are bloodthirsty, violent beasts; extremely dangerous and lethal.

"How on earth did you manage to kill it?" she huffed, staring at him in confusion. She felt her blood run cold when his blue moonlit hues bore right back into hers.

" _Kill it?_ For fuck's sake, Granger, I'm not an idiot," he scoffed, obviously unnoticing his own mistake, "I _tamed_ it. Took a claw to the face, but I did it. I wouldn't kill the little thing."

"Did you just call a Chimaera little, Malfoy? It gave you that gigantic scar on your face and you call it little?" she nearly snorted at him, surprised at his sudden self exposure.

"They're not bad creatures if you know how to deal with them," he explained, "All you need is some raw Runespoor meat, and you're good to go."

"And you just _happened to have_ the meat of a serpent native to Africa?"

"I have accessibility to a lot of things, Granger."

At the second use of her last name she was sure it wasn't a mistake. Even so, she didn't say anything. "How'd one even get here? Aren't they native to Greece?" she questioned him, a fragment of light reflecting the fear in her eyes.

"We had a small outbreak. It's nothing to worry about."

She let out a small sigh as the small talk drew to a stop.

She almost found herself enjoying his company. Even the thought of putting up with, let alone enjoying his company ached her bones with hatred.

As they approached the main camp their conversation grew quiet. He no longer spoke to her, and she no longer spoke to him. The snippet of progress they'd made had been abolished.

Blinded once again by the lights of the Health center, Slughorn ran her diagnostics before allowing her to the shower room.

Once completely scrubbed down she dried her curls as much as she could, towel soaked with sweet water as she clothed herself in a new white dress.

The walk home was quiet, but the tension had slightly eased.

She was grateful for at least that, even though she felt as though she should be spitting in his face out of anger, throwing insults at his thick walled ego at every chance she was given, and he should be doing the same, but there they had walked, able to navigate their way through a conversation. It may have been a spiteful, defensive conversation, but it was still a conversation.

Arriving at the cell he was silent, removing her ropes before shutting her inside.

He left without a word.

............

They all stood as Fred came limping through the door, flinching as the door slammed behind him.

"I..." he collapsed to the floor with a groan, face bloodied and bruised, left eye swollen shut.

"C'mere, Freddie," Ginny pulled her brother into her lap, running her fingers through his red locks as tears began to well in her eyes.

"I... gave up... Gin.." he choked out, cries trapped in his throat, "I'm... so sorry."

"What did you tell them, Freddie?" Ginny asked solemnly, "I need to know the extent of how bad it is."

"The secondary.... Order house.." he coughed, blood sputtering from his lips as Ginny reached for a rag.

" _Shit_ ," she mumbled, "shit this is bad-"

"I'm so sorry, Gin, it hurt so badly, I'm sorry-"

"It's okay, Freddie," she muttered, "I understand. This isn't your fault."

With the help of Neville she lifted her brother onto his mattress, and he fell into a light sleep, only after a fit of coughing erupted from his lungs.

Hermione dug around in his pant pocket for the nail, placing it down on the ground as to tell the time. It was merely six o'clock, giant sun still sitting still in the sky, summer air emitting no breeze to counter the sweltering heat.

It was miserable.

Heat exhaustion taking over, they sat in a cell of their own blood, sweat and tears.

Dinner, the usual scraps of meat, dry bread and microwaveable peas was delivered with a few bottles of water.

She'd noticed the cell grow visibly chilly once he left, so much so she'd felt a shiver run up her spine at the sudden change of temperature.

Perhaps there was a cold front.

Stomach half full now slightly too cold, she wrapped herself in the thin sheets provided and focused in on her mind.

" _You're back_ ," Harry smiled, " _feels like I haven't seen you around in forever_."

Hermione cocked her head in confusion. " _I was just here last night_."

" _What're you talking about, Mione? It's been months,_ " Ron said, pulling her into a hug, hands wrapped gingerly around her waist. " _I missed you_."

" _I missed you too_ ," she mumbled, eyebrows furrowed in concern. Her concussion had messed with her dreaming again.

Suddenly he pulled back, pressing a soft kiss to her lips; and for some strange inner feeling, she felt uncomfortable.

But she couldn't deny him, no. So she allowed him to kiss her again.

" _How have things been? Thought you wouldn't be back in time for the quidditch match this afternoon. We're up against Slytherin; you coming?_ " Harry asked, running a hand through his soft brown locks.

" _Um, sure,_ " she half smiled, Ron taking her hand as they made their way back up to the castle she missed so dearly.

Hours of laughter, pure joy and ecstasy passed before she found herself in the quidditch stands, sun beaming brightly above her mess of curls, cheers erupting from the large oval pitch.

She watched as colors of green and crimson stormed the blue sky, yells of " _go gryffindor, go!_ " from the students around her.

Suddenly the sky began to storm.

The air went cold as a certain blonde flew on his broomstick towards Harry, now chasing the snitch.

But Malfoy wasn't in green, no. Let alone a quidditch uniform. He was in all black, spikes adorning his mask and all. Everyone else in her dreams had always been the school versions of themselves; why hadn't he changed?

Her heart dropped to her stomach when she watched Malfoy knock Harry from his broomstick, falling through thin air; but someone would save him, right?

Right?

Right?

He hit the field with a crack of the neck.

The pitch fell silent.

A tear dripped down her flushed cheek as the blonde removed himself from his broomstick, approaching her in all of his glory.

Now standing just before her, a sudden hand reached up to her jaw, wiping the tear with his thumb.

His touch was as freezing as the air around her.

" _You've seen plenty of dead, Mudblood._ "

Her breath hitched in her throat as she felt familiar ropes slither around her wrists.

_"Why so rattled?"_

She woke up with an ear curdling scream.

☾


	5. ☾ Chapter 5

☾

"Hermione?" Ginny shook her shoulders, "are you alright? We heard you screaming,"

"I'm fine," she slowed her shallow breaths, trying to rid the image of Harry's dead body on the ground of the quidditch pitch; let alone the touch of the man who'd done it.

"Hermione, you're crying."

She noticed the wetness on her cheeks and wiped the teardrops with her sleeve. The dream had been strangely unsatisfying; gory.

She felt extremely violated by his sudden appearance in her mind.

And despite having just watched one of her friends quite literally die, all she could think, praying he could hear her inner monologue, was;

"Damnit, Malfoy. You've ruined it."

Suddenly she was tired again. As though the bones in her body ached from having to relive her worst, warped nightmare.

Even so, she wouldn't sleep.

She couldn't.

Her body could physically not handle watching his death again. Whether it be a flashback or a warp of reality, she refused.

What she'd done had been selfish. Guilt coursed through her veins as the memory reentered her mind.

Mere feet from the battle grounds, Ginny and Hermione stood hiding behind a large Flora tree. They could see the main courtyard, where they had abandoned their friends and family.

That was the moment they'd had to watch both Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter be executed on the spot; and they couldn't make a sound.

Whilst Hermione and Ginny had escaped, despite the immense grief put on both their shoulders, the others had found their way into cells in various locations throughout Europe.

It was only eleven months later when the two girls heard official news of an order safe house while foraging for food in a rural farm town. After nearly a year of jumping between abandoned homes and piles of rubble they began to head towards the supposed location.

Traveling across Scotland from Wick to Callander was no easy task.

The walk took six days in total. They'd decided on fourteen hours of walking, and ten hours to sleep; a very generous amount, Ginny had decided.

With a tent in a bag, only four days worth of food and a single bottle of water, they began to travel.

Two days into the walk they'd been lured into a bog by a group of hinkypunks. Four to be exact. If Hermione hadn't learned the spell to counter their magic mere months beforehand, they'd both be dead.

At the safe house they were greeted by their current band of cell mates, and the other five students in their division who are currently dead or being held hostage; Angelina, Leanne, Susan, Cho, and Ernie. Multitudes of other students resided there as well.

The supervisors consisted of Minerva McGonagall, Professor Vector and Nymphadora Tonks, there more so as a grieving mother and widow than anything else.

Tonks had lost herself following Remus' death.

It was a fairly large farmhouse in the middle of a plain, protective enchantments allowing only those with good intentions inside the premises.

When Angelina had been compromised, the four other students in her division were sent to the main camp for her rescue, they'd all been slaughtered. The further loss of Angelina had left Fred devastated.

After two years of being sitting ducks, she'd been sent to find Leanne.

And now she sat in a cell, fortunately not all alone.

Although sometimes she did wish she was alone.

By the time she'd combed through every moment leading up to her current circumstances, it was two in the morning.

Even so, she was stuck in her mind; she didn't hear the cell door swing open.

"Mudblood," he whispered.

She sat staring at the red numbers.

" _Mudblood_ ,"

She couldn't hear him.

"Oh for fuck's sake, _Granger_ , I don't have time for this," he stormed into the cell, making her jump as his hand wrapped around her arm, standing her up.

"You scared the living _shit_ out of me-"

She was tempted to slap him across the face but her hands were now tied behind her back.

"Unfortunately, _I don't care_ ," he snarled, coaxing her forward with a tug of her ropes.

Trudging along the path in the moonlight was slowly becoming somewhat less terrifying to her. However, his time she wasn't uneasy due to the darkness.

She was uneasy due to the feeling of a pair of sharp blue hues studying her figure.

She felt violated by him, again.

She was to do the studying. Not him. He was complex, complicated; she was a simple prisoner. There was simply nothing to study.

"What?" She found herself snapping at him, forcing his eyes away from her figure.

"Nothing.. Except for your temper," he hissed, earning her another tug to the wrists.

Dirt covered her shoes as she tried her best to brush off the speckles in the grasses, soft summer creek trickling in her ears, which gave her a much needed sense of calm.

Even so she felt so tempted to talk to him. To understand him.

To tame him.

"So we're not gonna say anything?"

He glanced over to her with curiosity, "What would you like me to say?"

"I don't know," she said quietly, slightly embarrassed.

"Then why ask in the first place?" She could nearly see an unamused smirk beneath his mask.

She didn't answer.

"Now who's not saying anything?"

She didn't answer.

And this time, he let it go.

She expected her visit at the Health Center to go smoothly, but when Slughorn let out a small hum of concern, she knew something had gone wrong.

"What is it?"

"Have you by any chance hit your head again recently, Miss Granger?"

Shit. He'd noticed.

"I was hit again during an interrogation, Sir," she said quietly, looking down at her hands.

"I'm afraid your once healing concussion has worsened, Miss Granger. You'll need to be put on medication again."

"No, no, I'm perfectly fine-"

"It's necessary, Miss Granger. Your injury may reside permanent if you don't take them," he sighed, unknowing as to why she was so adamant about the pills.

Tears began to well in her eyes at the news, "how long?"

"Twelve weeks."

Her hues began to pour. " _No_ , no I can't go that long-"

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger. You will start tomorrow tonight," he exclaimed, "Mr. Malfoy will be delivering your pill nightly with dinner to make sure you take them."

She looked carefully towards the glass in the door, tears streaming down her cheeks as he stared at her with furrowed brows.

"You may shower now, Miss Granger."

While hot water droplets mixed with her salty tears, she heard faint mumbles of conversation outside her door.

Slughorn was talking to him.

"What exactly is wrong with her?"

"She hit her head months ago during an interrogation that resulted in a moderate concussion. She was placed on this medication before, only for six weeks that time-"

"Why wasn't I informed?" He sounded livid.

"She was healing, Corporal. _Better_. we thought it didn't concern you-"

"I'm her cell tender. If there's anything wrong with my prisoners, I am to be informed."

"I am sincerely sorry, Corporal-"

" _You should be sorry_ ," he snarled back, "give me the medication. I'd like an explanation as to how she was injured. And.. anything else I should be aware of."

"Yes Sir," Slughorn answered quite timidly, running back into his office to find the orange prescription pill bottle.

She dried and dressed herself before patting down her cheeks, hoping he couldn't see the tears in her eyes. He retied her ropes before placing the bottle of pills in his satchel, next to where the leather book was sitting.

And so they left.

"Why are you crying?"

"I'm not," she muttered, staring straight ahead at the long, winding road.

"You were."

"It's none of your business."

His eyes narrowed at her, "It is now."

She didn't answer.

"Damnit, _answer me, Granger_ ," he barked, tugging so tightly at her ropes she let out a small cry.

So she did what she did best; changing the subject.

"Did your Father put you up to this?"

"Excuse me?"

"Because this all seems like a big front, I mean- the big bad mask, the all black uniform, I just can't believe you'd actually _let them_ turn you into some sort of war weapon-"

He tugged her further into his chest before slamming her harshly against the base of a yew tree, "If I hear one, more, word, from that stupid mouth of yours, I won't hesitate to cut your tongue from your throat."

"I don't believe you would," she said defiantly, wincing at the harsh bark against her palms.

"Are you _fucking_ serious?" Outrage was boiling in his eyes.

"I am serious," she hissed, "you couldn't kill Dumbledore then, I doubt you could handle it now-"

His tone became incredibly low, threatening, almost deadly to her ears as his face grew so close she could see nearly every detail of his cold eyes.

"I've the blood of ninety nine people on my hands, Granger. _Would you like to be my hundredth?_ "

"So you're keeping count?" She scowled at him, "how sympathetic-"

"The Dark Lord considers those who kill the most to be prodigies, and I happen to have nearly the highest kill count in his entire artillery, so I suggest you _shut your mouth_ before I do it for you."

He backed away after realizing their noses were nearly touching.

"So what is your almighty, remarkable, extraordinary self doing tending to some _Mudblood's_ prison cell? I thought you were a prodigy." Her tone was almost mocking.

"I appreciate the compliments, Mudblood, but I have my own underlying agendas," he exclaimed, "trust me, I've got more important things to do with my time than tend to you and your little Gryffindor friends."

"Is that so?"

"Yes." He growled, "Can we go now? I'd like to get a few hours of sleep."

Her eyes began to brim over with tears again at the word.

Sleep.

"What?" he scoffed, stepping away from the tree as a drop ran down her cheek, "Why are you crying?"

"It doesn't matter," she mumbled, and they continued on the path.

Once again, despite his urge to discover her truth, he let it go.

Back inside the cell, she waited for him to leave before letting out a sob in her pillow. Sleep. Hermione's insomnia would be absolutely dreadful for the next twelve weeks.

The medication wouldn't allow her to dream. That was the side effect.

She let out another silent cry at the thought of not being able to see Ronald, or Harry, or anyone outside of her cellmates, interrogators and Malfoy for the next twelve weeks.

Not only would it be torturous, but she'd have to find another way to stop the interrogators from acquiring her mind's Order knowledge during the daytime. Taking the pills were practically a death wish.

She wouldn't be able to last this long.

Let alone the other side effects. Headaches, drowsiness, dizziness. It was about as terrible as having the concussion in the first place. She was almost sure Slughorn was shoving placebos down her throat.

Despite her fear of another nightmare, she slipped into a slumber, knowing it would be the last time in months she would see her friends.

She was going to say goodbye.

☾


	6. ☾ Chapter 6

☾

The conversation with Harry and Ronald had not gone well. Being so incredibly stubborn she'd been able to trick Draco eleven nights in a row into thinking she'd taken her medication.

Swallowing down mere water with the pill tucked underneath her tongue, she'd spit it out once everyone was sleeping and stashed them underneath her pillow.

Despite not having taken her medication, the conversation had gone over so badly with the boys she refused to dream at all, unless her mind took her there herself. No effort was put into doing so; if her consciousness wanted to bring her there, then it would.

She couldn't care less.

Over and over again she lied to herself.

She'd debated using some form of stick to ground them into the cell's cement floor, turning them into fine powder, but she'd decided if she were to give up, the pills would make an easy overdose.

She needed her disassociation and dreaming for interrogations. She would give up information otherwise. Medication compromised that space in her mind.

They came after dinner to take her away.

Two harsh guards plus the female with those damned green eyes would drag her to the interrogation sight, precedingly attempt over and over again to enter her mind both magically and physically.

Hermione had yet to break.

They tied her hands and feet to the wooden chair, removing the cloth gag from her mouth which she had chewed through with her teeth.

"Why haven't we killed her yet?" One drawled, "Obviously she's not giving up-"

"Shut your mouth, Mortimer. She'll break," her long fingernail dug into Hermione's chin, lifting her syrupy brown eyes to her green devilish ones.

Hermione began to drag her mind elsewhere as magic continued to pound against her brain to no avail. 

"No wonder you're little friends are dead," she drawled, "I'm sure you're the only one who would've managed to last this long. The boy who lived is a pretty ironic, isn't it?"

Hermione's lip slightly trembled, but she didn't give in.

"Out of all the men in the world," the woman began, slightly pacing the floor in front of her ancient, rickety chair, "Why the poor, ludicrous one? Such a man-child, such a jackass. You'd think a strong woman like you would deserve someone a little more... Intelligent?"

"Go to hell," Hermione growled, trying to break free from the ropes that tied her to the wooden chair. Usually male death eaters would laugh at a pathetic little girl's attitude, but the woman had had enough of her antics.

"Shut the fuck up, little bitch," the woman seethed, hands gripped so tightly around Hermione's neck she was close to spewing up blood. "Mudblood piece of shite," she spat on her cheek, kicking the chair from beneath her once again.

Thank Merlin her head hadn't hit the floor; but the fall had knocked the wind out of her.

Hermione heaved for air as a pointed black boot kicked into her lung, then her limbs, leaving red marks all over her body.

She was sure they would bruise.

Another kick to the stomach and she'd hurled her dinner all over the floor.

"Pig," Hermione wailed out as the woman's boot hit her cheek, knocking a back tooth from it's socket making her mouth bleed before spitting the bone onto the ground, into what remained of her dinner.

"Take her back. She'll give us nothing."

She was dragged out the door, bruised and bloody with vomit smeared against her chin, tears of pain from the kick to her lung spilling down her cheeks.

The moment Hermione was back inside her cell she collapsed to the floor with a sob.

"Shit, Mione," Ginny gasped, grabbing a soiled rag from the corner to wipe the vomit and blood from her body.

"I almost lost it," Hermione rasped out, limbs tired and crumpled against the cement ground, "She said something about Ron, and--and-" 

"It's okay," Ginny swiftly peeled her body from the floor; despite her muscle accumulation, Hermione remained quite light weighted.

"They need to get you to a doctor now, Hermione," Fred exclaimed, shakily handing her a bottle of water as he stared at the marks in dread.

"I appreciate the thought, Freddie, but I don't really think they care," Hermione mumbled, wincing at the pain in her wrist as she took the bottle from his hands, downing a small sip through parched lips.

"Three more days until yours, Mione," Neville exclaimed, "until then you can rest."

"If she doesn't drop dead by then," Ginny grumbled, helping Hermione lay down on her mattress. Adrenaline was what kept her going on the walk back to the cell; once there, every muscle in her body proved useless.

She didn't bother dreaming that night.

Nor for the next two nights, until he'd came for her early morning doctors appointment. 

"Get up, Granger," he stalked inside, harshly grabbing her wrist, eyebrows furrowing when she let out a yelp of pain at his touch.

"How bad did they fucking beat you?" he pushed her through the doorway, "Christ, Granger. You're a mess."

"Thanks," she mumbled, letting out a hiss as his ropes tied around her wrists. He took slightly longer this time, fingertips sliding gingerly against her bruised swollen skin, as though he were examining it.

The walk was quiet, the peaceful hum of branches and leaves rustling in the cooling September air mixing with that same trickle of the lily pad dotted creek. Natured filled their silences.

His grasp on the ropes always became ten times harsher when they approached main camp, but the ropes had been tied seemingly loose around her wrists this time around.

Her mind told her to make a break for it, but in her condition she was not fit to apparate, let alone run.

He would be tackling her in milliseconds; she wouldn't make it three feet.

Darkness spilled to light as they entered the all too familiar Health Center, Slughorn waiting to take her in with wide eyes as she stepped through the door.

Before untying her wrists he took a moment to canvas her injuries in full light. A slight scowl rested in his expression as she strode weakly away from him.

"My Merlin, Miss Granger," Slughorn gasped, hand over his heart, "I don't believe I've seen injuries so horrible in my entire time here-"

"Sure you have," she mumbled, "let's just get this over with," she added an unconvincing 'please' to the end of her sentence merely for overly practiced, psychologically imprinted kindness skills she'd learned as a child.

Oh how much she regretted it now.

He cast diagnostics over her body; his heart seemed to drop in his chest at the results.

"I'm going to have to ask Corporal Malfoy to sit in on your results, is that alright with you?" Slughorn asked timidly, almost afraid of her response.

It was much to his surprise when she simply replied in question, "Malfoy is the Corporal?"

"Y-yes. You didn't know?"

"I was unaware," Hermione mumbled, eyes drowsy from the extremely bright ceiling lights.

Slughorn simply nodded and strode out the door to fetch him. His eyes met his as she watched from the door's window. His eyes furrowed as Slughorn spoke and immediately stood from his chair, striding across the hall and into the room.

Hermione jumped slightly as it shut loudly behind him.

Her body seemed to freeze up when he was this close to her space in broad light. Her legs squeezed tighter, arms crossing over her chest as a protective measure while he sat casually on the seat across from her examination table.

"I'm afraid she's got a punctured lung, her right wrist is completely shattered-"

"Fucking hell, does nobody know how to hold a proper interrogation these days? This is entirely against protocol," Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"Um, yes--Corporal," Slughorn stammered, "multiple bruises on her limbs which can be treated with bruise healing paste,"

"She kicked me in the face," Hermione said flatly, a bitter look on her face as she opened her mouth slightly, "You need to grow my tooth back."

"Jesus Christ," Draco muttered, crossing his arms with yet another sigh of disapproval.

"And it appears her brain injuries aren't healing," Slughorn continued, "In fact it appears no progress has been made whatsoever."

"Mublood," Draco snarled, "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything-"

"Liar," he nearly shouted, making her jump in her seat.

"Corporal, there is a possibility that the medication is simply defective, Sir," Slughorn said timidly, "We'll continue with this prescription for another four weeks in search of improvement. If none is made, then... Well, I'll have to resort to more powerful healing magic."

"Such as?" Draco pondered, cracking his ringed knuckles.

"We'll get to that when, and if we have to," Slughorn chuckled nervously, "This may sting a little, dear,"

Before she could protest a syringe filled with skele-gro was pressed up against the inner side of her wrist.

Her free wrist gripped at the corner of the table as she let out a cry of pain, "Sting?!" she scowled, much to Malfoy's amusement, "That did not just sting, you absolute-"

"Watch your mouth, Granger," Draco cut her off, "give me the rest of the medication. I'll take care of it," he seethed.

"Yes, Sir," Slughorn exclaimed, "Be careful with that wrist in the shower, Granger. It'll take a few hours to heal completely,"

Hermione simply stood from the examination table with a scowl, grabbing a fresh dress from the pile before storming into the shower room, slamming the door shut with her able-bodied hand. 

She let out a groan as the hot water assailed her swollen limbs, more so damaging the bruises than soothing them.

"The bruise healing paste won't be necessary, Doctor," she faintly heard Draco exclaim from outside the door.

When she returned, hair slightly damp, Draco's satchel was completely stuffed to the brim with potions and pill bottles.

"Are those all for me?" she mumbled, cringing at the amount of content in his bag.

"No. Some of it's mine," he said flatly, tying the ropes back around her ropes, rolling his eyes as she let out another hiss of pain.

"What is it, Xanax-"

"It's melatonin, Granger. I'm not a drug addict," he scoffed, dragging her back out onto the road.

Every conversation ended in utter silence.

Silence dreaded Hermione more than the amount of drugs stuffed into his pouch.

"You seem quite distressed over my injuries, Malfoy," Hermione hummed, implying he had underlying intentions which he'd already admitted to once before. 

"I can't help but wonder why my guards aren't doing their job correctly," he scowled, "this has nothing to do with you, Granger. Get over yourself."

"You're so..." she paused, furrowing her brows in search of the correct word to finish her sentence with.

"Go ahead, Granger. Spit it out."

"You."

"I'm going to take that as an insult," he rumbled, rolling his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

"You're so you, and I hate you for it," she decided, finishing her sentence which sounded much dumber aloud than she'd intended.

"Tell me how you really feel, Granger," he snickered, eyeing the concrete cell that was slowly coming into view in the distance. "Why do you hate me?"

"I hate you because you're fighting for the people who killed my parents. You're a selfish bastard. That is why I hate you."

"Is that all?" Draco nearly chuckled, but covered it with a scoff. As a Corporal, he wasn't supposed to find his prisoner's entertaining.

"I hate you because you're fighting for the people who killed your Mother."

It was when he drew his knife from his holster that she realized she'd gone too far; now at the cell block, he slammed her against the concrete wall with the blade to her neck. His anger seemed to seep through her veins, ice cold eyes burning through her soul before freezing her heart to ice.

"You don't know what I'm fighting for, Granger," he snarled, digging the dull edge of his silver weapon further into her moonlit skin.

"Do it," she taunted him, "stab me, Malfoy. Nobody would miss a stupid little mudblood, would they?" her eyes returned the same antagonism he gave her; while her heart sat frozen under his gaze, she was slowly thawing his.

He had finally met his match.

"Maybe another day, Granger," he drew his knife away from her throat, placing it back in it's holster before untying her wrists, shoving her back into the cell with a lock of the door.

Wrist slightly less agonizing, she collapsed onto her mattress content with their argument. When he'd taken his blade away from her bruised hand-marked throat, she knew she'd won.

She fell asleep satisfied.

After another restless morning, as light began to pour through the cell door, she sat up and examined her limbs in confusion.

Every single one of her bruises was gone.

☾


	7. ☾ Chapter 7

☾

The trees outside of their cell door had begun to turn, shades of mandarin and crimson taking over the valley's landscape, crisp air filling Hermione's nostrils as she woke with a grunt.

Tangled under the newly provided bedsheets, quite thin might she add, barely able to contain any body heat, her eyes blinked open.

Despite the cooling air, she'd noticed the cell seemed to retain a sense of warmth.

Perhaps it was psychological. Perhaps Malfoy had placed a warming charm over the concrete walls.

Perhaps he wasn't as initially evil as she had believed.

Perhaps.

Her dreams hadn't brought her back to Hogwarts last night.

Instead she'd found herself alone, sitting in an open aired teahouse at sunset, lanterns hanging from the strips of red wood with a steaming cup of green tea in her mittened hands, a teaspoon of honey having been mixed into the brew.

The sky seemed to blush down at her as the fading sun dropped from the sky, kissing her cheeks goodbye before the world turned cold.

It was quiet. Peaceful.

Every morning the world pulled her from fantasy back to reality.

Back to that damned white dress and her damned gray cell and her moronic, thick headed, stubborn damned self.

The guards arrived shortly after her awakening to drag Neville away for an interrogation. They didn't even give him time to eat breakfast.

Nobody tried to stop them, nobody protested. They had all given up.

Boredom was a regular visitor to Hermione's consciousness. She spent her time reciting Order training exercises with Ginny to relieve that fatigue of nothingness.

When she was too sore or tired to train she braided and unbraided her long locks of curls, until she could braid her entire mane in merely ten seconds.

When she wasn't training and her hair wasn't braided, her head hurt.

It throbbed in excruciating pain; so much pain it led her to sobs; sobs so powerful they left her throat raw.

Every night, despite her agony, she refused the medication. She knew she would drive herself to death if she didn't, but she no longer cared.

By the end of five rounds of training, punches and hooks being thrown between the two girls, braiding her hair twenty seven times and single headache in her temples, Neville had returned with a bruised and bloodied body.

Parvati cleansed him of his wounds before laying him down onto his mattress. It was all Parvati knew how to do, healing.

After not being able to save Lavender from her werewolf bites, she'd gone mad with the need to rehabilitate every being she saw hurt, whether it be physically or mentally.

Dusk was swiftly approaching.

After wrapping their knuckles in torn cloths to soften their blows, Ginny and Hermione began to fight again.

With her curls in a messy braid, Ginny's auburn locks in a ponytail, the blows began.

Before she could defend herself, Ginny had Hermione in a headlock, arm wrapped tightly around her neck.

"You should've hooked right, not left," Ginny grunted, holstering her throat with her limb.

Hermione smirked, quickly jabbing her elbow back into Ginny's stomach, pinning her against the wall, hand wrapped around her throat.

"Never let the arms go free in a headlock, Gin," Hermione smirked, letting out a well needed huff of air.

"Well," a voice drawled from the door, "that was quite... entertaining."

She let go of Ginny without a sound.

"Here's your delightful dinner," he placed the tray on the floor, "the usual shite that resembles animal feces, if that makes you feel any better."

"If I could shove real animal shite right down your throat I would, you albino washout," Ginny grumbled, snatching the tray from the ground in front of him.

He simply laughed at her, motioning for Hermione to come forward.

"Granger," he took a bottle from his satchel, "Your medication."

She took the pill from his hand and slipped it into her mouth, guzzling a bottle of water shortly afterwards.

"Done."

"I don't think so," he tsked, "Open."

Her eyes widened, panic bubbling in her stomach, "What?! Why-"

He strode forward, fingers now gripping her chin, "Open your mouth, Granger. Now."

She tilted her chin upwards, "No."

He gave a low chuckle, lapping his tongue against his inner cheek before gripping her entire jaw tighter, nails digging into her skin, "I'm not asking," he growled, "Open your goddamn mouth, Granger. I will not hesitate to do it for you."

Slowly she parted her lips, showing him the insides of her mouth.

"Lift your tongue."

With a shattered breath she did as he told, and her tongue moved upwards, revealing the small white pill beneath it's mass.

"I fucking knew it," he seethed, "Swallow it."

"I can't-"

"Fucking swallow it, Granger," he growled. She swallowed it down with a swig of water, making her open her mouth again as to check that she'd actually done it.

"Where are they?"

"I don't know-"

"Damnit, Granger, WHERE?"

"Under my pillow," a tear dripped down her cheek in defeat as he stormed over to her bed, throwing her pillow to the ground, the pile of little pills laying still.

"You moronic little- do realize these are to help you," he shouted, "or are you too thick headed to realize people are actually trying to keep you alive?"

"Trying to keep me alive?!" She yelled, voice quivering, "You beat the life out of us every fucking day of our little miserable lives and call it 'keeping us alive'?!"

"I AM NOT THE ONE BEATING YOU, GRANGER," he screamed, "Do not blame me for the actions of others. For Merlin's sake you should blame yourself for ever getting caught in the first place," his hands shook at the sleeves of her dress.

"But you're the Corporal, aren't you?" She exclaimed, "it's your guards, under your control that are beating the life out of me. Out of us," she was too consumed to notice the hot tears streaming down her face, "this is your fault," she was close enough to poke her finger into his chest, digging it into the skin beneath his uniform.

"Take your damn pill, Granger. That is all I am asking of you."

He stormed out of the cell without another word.

She no longer wanted to see him tonight. Not that she wanted to in the first place. She dreaded those three little numbers on her red alarm clock more than she dreaded death itself.

Hermione slid down the wall with a sob, bunching the fabric of her dress in her fists.

"It's alright, Mione," Ginny rushed to her side, helping her back to her bed. "It's alright."

It was another sleepless night.

She silently cried and cried into her pillow, staring at the empty space where her pills had once laid.

One more minute and he would arrive, the red numbers blurred with tears.

One more minute of dread.

"Granger," the door unlocked, "C'mon."

She silently walked out beside him, pressing back tears as his ropes slithered back around her wrists.

The autumn breeze pushed leaves from their branches as they walked along the dirt path, falling around their feet as they continued on.

"I'm surprised your dress is still white this week, Granger," his usual snarky tone had softened.

Perhaps he was tired. Perhaps he had seen her crying.

Perhaps.

"Why?"

"I guess I just considered you as more of a disobedient type," he supposed, staring at her with ice eyes.

"Is that supposed to be an insult?"She questioned him, stopping mid path as he tugged at her ropes, egging her on.

"I suppose so."

"I just know what's best for me," she exclaimed defensively,

"If you knew what's best for you, you'd take your bloody medication," he mumbled, rolling his eyes at her.

"Oh shut up."

They continued walking as she basked in the moonlit forest, admiring the darkness. She never thought she'd admire the darkness before. She'd never realized how peaceful it was.

"It's beautiful."

She hadn't meant to speak it aloud.

"Firstly, it's dark outside, secondly, what the hell do you expect me to say to that?" He scoffed, "Yes, this war ridden little valley is absolutely stunning, Granger. Mere thousands have been tortured here, the crimson color of stained blood really is quite aesthetic-"

"Well I-," she took a huff of breath, trying to remain composed, "Compared to everything else, going on, I mean. Don't you think?"

He gave her a strange sort of look before turning to the trees, answering, "I suppose so."

"How many times are you going to use that phrase?"

"How about every single time I respond to one of your ridiculous questions, is that a good enough answer for you, Granger?"

"I suppose so," she toyed, a small, sly smile playing onto her face as she looked away, avoiding his gaze.

Despite the mask on his face she could swear she saw a hint of a smirk lingering in his eyes.

They arrived at the health center, and instead of waiting in the waiting room, he strode right into the office with her.

"It appears your patient hasn't been taking their medication," Draco immediately seethed, watching Slughorn's face warp from fear into surprise. "She's been hiding them under her tongue, tricking me into believing me she's swallowed it and proceeds to stash the pills under her pillow. I've no clue what for."

"Miss Granger, I am terribly dissapointed," Slughorn sighed, "May I ask why?"

She shook her head, picturing the tea house in her mind. The view, how it smelt, how the soft mittens felt around her cold, nimble fingertips.

"No."

"I'd use Occlumency to force it out of you but I've heard you're quite good at hiding bits of information inside that brain of yours," Draco scoffed.

"You've heard correctly," her eyes slitted towards him as she crossed her arms.

"Your diagnostics seem normal all the less. You may shower, Miss Granger," Slughorn sighed.

"Yeah," she chuckled sarcastically, "his guards beat me less this week," she gave a deathly glare towards her blonde counterpart before stepping into the shower room with a slam of the door.

Once dried and redressed she stepped outside, unhappily eyeing the ropes in his hands, ready for use. He retied them and they left.

"So," he began, "why don't you like taking your medication?"

"Why would I tell you that?"

"Just to... be an eye for an ear."

"Is that a real phrase?" She questioned his stupidity.

"Probably not. So, why don't you like em'? I could always stab it out of you, take you up on that deal from two weeks ago," he chuckled, running his free, rope-less hand through his blonde, messy locks.

"You remember," she said surprised, "you really want to stab me that badly, do you?"

He quirked an eyebrow at her, "Perhaps."

"I disassociate to avoid feeling pain during interrogations," she exclaimed, "I also lucid dream nightly to get away from... well, here."

He seemed confused, "And you can't take the medication because-"

"A side effect is basically a blank mind. No dreaming, no disassociation, not to mention the headaches, nausea, chills, loss of appetite, weakness, dehydration-"

"Alright, Christ, you don't have to list every side effect for Merlin's sake, Granger," he growled, shutting her up.

"You're the one who asked," she mumbled.

They went silent once again.

"You could've told me, y'know."

"I could've told you?!" She practically screeched at him, "did you not just tell me to shut up-"

"Don't warp my words, Granger. I said no such thing," he exclaimed.

"You're ridiculous."

"How so?"

"Now who asks too many questions?" She scoffed, "if I'd told you, you probably would've laughed at me, pulled a knife on me then told your entire little guard crew exactly how to beat me."

"You've misjudged me, Granger," he said, cracking his knuckles as the brown rope sat knotted between his fingers.

"I don't believe I have," she said, head raised high with poise.

"I suggest you think before you judge, Granger."

"I'll judge you all I want," she stated defiantly, refusing to conform to his little game.

"And I the same, Granger."

Before locking the cell door, he muttered a warming charm against the concrete walls, "Don't get cold feet, Granger. You might just get attacked by a Chimaera."

With a blink of her eyes, he was gone.

☾


	8. ☾ Chapter 8

☾

Hermione had been silent the entirety of the day.

No training, no braiding, not even a headache. She could only focus on the extreme trembling in her fingertips, sitting absolutely terrified after another dreamless night.

Today would be her first interrogation on her medication.

"Nervous today, are we, Mudblood?" The woman entered the cell and took her by the throat before dragging her along the dirt pathway, all the way to the interrogation house.

She was shoved down into the chair, limbs tied to it's wooden being before the woman sharply slapped her across the face.

" _Hey_."

A thick, strict voice drawled from the corner.

" _Lay off_."

"I'm sorry, Corporal," she profusely apologized, hiding her preposterous eye roll from his view.

"You may begin."

Hermione gave him a terrified glance; he merely responded with a small nod of his head.

The death eaters pointed their wands towards Hermione's body as she squeezed her eyes shut, preparing her mind as much as she could despite it's barrenness.

But to her surprise, she'd passed through their spells with ease. Every single penetration had been successfully blocked with zero to little pain.

She opened her eyes in confusion.

"Still nothing?" Draco drawled from the corner, eyes slanted towards the female who stood before her.

"No, sir," she exclaimed defeatedly.

"What a shame," he sighed, "It seems you are no longer of use to me, Elaine. You will be transferred to Corporal Zabini's troop tomorrow morning."

"I can do it, Sir, I just need a little more time-"

"I have given you seven months, Elaine. It seems you are so terrible at your job I've taken on most of your responsibilities myself," he snarled, anger radiating off of his broad shoulders.

She leaned closer into him, malevolent green eyes boring straight into his, "We're not forgetting who caught her in the first place... Are we, Corporal?"

"I've changed my mind," Draco sighed, "You will not be transferred tomorrow morning,"

A small smirk came upon her face, but was quickly defeated.

"You will be transferring now."

"Excuse me-"

"Leave my interrogation room, _soldier_. You're done."

"But-"

"GET OUT OF MY SIGHT,"

Hermione flinched in her chair as his sharp tongue rumbled through the walls, into the valley and surely echoing out and away into the mountains above.

"Come, Mudblood," he swiftly untied her limbs before pushing her through the door, making sure every remaining death eater in the building watched him shove her to the ground before picking her back up again, "We're leaving."

Blood began to trickle down her scraped knees as they walked in silence.

Suddenly she had an idea. She'd no idea how it'd sprung into her mind; it was a subconscious thought. She was nearly involuntary to her thoughts, let alone her actions.

Occlumency, he'd mentioned it. The magic she used to use to counter a legilimens spell. Now she used disassociation instead of course, but she was almost sure he'd just blocked out their spells for her.

It was not a very kind way to repay him, but she had to know.

She began to breathe at a quicker pace, stumbling slightly on her feet.

"Granger?" His walking slowed, staring at her in concern.

"I—I think I need to sit down for a moment," she breathed, placing her hand over her heart.

"Are you alright-" he couldn't finish before she fell forwards, holding onto his shoulders for support, "Shit-"

He quickly wrapped his hands around her waist, holding her (as he believed to be) limp body in his arms.

She noticed the smell, his cologne. It almost distracted her, his scent, how good his shoulders felt-

No.

Focus.

"Legilimens-" she exclaimed, multiple alarms from the camp suddenly blaring in her ears as her spell bore into his distracted mind; her plan had worked.

She was inside.

She felt tears streaming down her cheeks; his cheeks.

She was inside of Malfoy Manor, it's bleak and blue dim light filling her hues.

"Draco Malfoy," Voldemort spoke from the head table. His head turned slightly, meeting his slitted snake-like irises.

Draco couldn't speak.

"Your mission failure has brought you to this conclusion, has it not?"

"Yes, My Lord." Draco's voice shook as he spoke; voice much younger than he sounded now.

"Bring her out."

A band of death eaters brought a gagged Narcissa from the dungeons, dragging her across the floor, body limp after having been inflected by multiple cruciatus curse spells.

"I'm so sorry-" Draco began, but he never got to fully apologize to his mother.

" _SILENCE_ ," Voldemort's voice echoed throughout the house, aching it's insulation with a poison laced tongue. "Make him watch."

Draco turned to his Father; Lucius only nodded forward.

So Draco watched her excruciatingly long, drawn out death; slithering ropes suffocating her to death beyond her will. Her face and wrists had turned a horrific shade of purple as they continued to tighten before going completely limp, body ceased of oxygen.

Draco ran to the corner of the bleak room, hands clutched to his stomach as vomit rose in his throat.

"From now on you will execute anyone I ask of you, do you understand?" The Dark Lord spoke, malice embedded in his hiss of a voice.

"Yes, My Lord," Draco quivered, "I understand."

She awoke from the terrible memory; suffocating.

But not because of the memory's disgusting nature.

She was pinned to the floor, chokes leaving her throat as he stared down at her, boiling with anger. His grip continued to tighten around her neck.

" _I will kill you myself later_ , but they're coming," he growled, watching as her small hands began to hit at his shoulders in desperate need of air, "close your eyes, _do not move_. Do you understand?"

She nodded before he let her go, closing her eyes as her lungs breathed in the air she so missed.

She lay as still as she could on the cold dirt pathway as footsteps approached from the pathway.

"What happened here?" A voice spoke, she figured a man of a higher rank, perhaps someone in the deal of prisoners using magic.

"I attempted my own form of legilimency against my prisoner. It seems in defense she used the same charm instead of an occlumency charm. The spells conflicted with one another and she passed out; I however, was strong enough to take the blow."

"What punishment should we see through, Sergeant?" The man asked, watching as her fingers trembled, small coughs still leaving her lips as she lay still on the floor.

"I consider it self defense," Draco drawled, "I'll come up with my own as the lines for rules in this section of punishment are... _controversial_."

"I see," the man exclaimed, "do you need help by means of transportation?"

"No," Draco said, "I have everything under control."

The man strode away with a nod, leaving the two of them behind.

Draco picked her up with the same hands he'd caught her with, throwing her against the base of a tree, the knife she was all too familiar with back at the base of her throat.

"I'm sorry-"

" _After what I did for you in there_ —I should've let you overdose on those pills, Granger," he seethed, "If you ever do that again, I'll slit this blade all the way through your throat."

She nodded through the tears blurring her eyes, limbs still shaking.

"And I will never, help you again."

She couldn't answer. He began to drag her by the ropes back to the cell, pushing her back inside it as she thumped to the ground.

He left without a word as usual, but this time the silence was particularly unbearable.

She laid down on her mattress in silence, sick to the stomach with thought. She was unknowing if he would truly act on such a belief; the belief that if he didn't kill everyone ordered of him, Voldemort would execute another one of his loved ones. She knew his Mother had been murdered by death eaters, but not to punish him for his failures.

The Dark Lord had sharpened him into a forged metal blade, one that would slice into the soul of any given enemy.

Only the people he killed weren't his enemies at all; he was simply manipulated into believing so.

Draco returned to his little cabin in the woods, anger simmering down in his chest, being replaced with a renews sense of guilt.

He hadn't wanted the brutal reminder that his killings weren't justified; he preferred to live with the violence of it all than constantly knowing that what he'd become was wrong.

He missed the blind darkness he'd created.

So he buried his pain where no one could find it, now wondering if he'd lost himself too.

He sat down on the reddish sofa in front of his fireplace with a sigh, trying to press back the angry tears rising in his icy hues.

She had made him see again.

It was all her fault.

☾


End file.
